


I Think We're Alone Now

by jayyxx



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Forehead Kisses, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stitches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 03:58:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17994404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayyxx/pseuds/jayyxx
Summary: David is far too gentle with Frank.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been writing this off and on for a while now. It’s probably out of character but idc. It’s literally about David slowly softening Frank until he’s jello. lol. 
> 
> lemme know how you feel. hehe

i.

David is far too gentle with Frank.

Frank has not known a gentle hand since the death of his wife. He hasn’t allowed himself one. Doesn’t deserve one, but David doesn’t care. 

David must have trained wolves in his past life because he doesn’t fear Frank. Without that fear, Frank is nothing. 

David doesn’t think that. Frankly, he doesn’t really care what Frank thinks of himself, because _he_ thinks Frank’s great... It’s almost as if he’s trying to convince Frank the same. 

Because David is gentle, and soft, and doesn’t back off when it’s socially appropriate. He enjoys having another person around, that’s for sure, and the concept of personal space is clearly lost on him. Frank finds that he doesn’t really mind (he _did,_ but got over that pretty quickly), and often catches himself basking in the comfort the other man is trying to give. Frank will never tell him it helps, but that’s okay. David knows as much. 

It started after Gunner died... Kinda. 

Frank had been an open wound; his past creeping up to attack him when he thought he was free. When Gunner thought he was free. 

It’s clear David feels bad. It didn’t matter how knocked Frank was, he felt that guilt: the way he held Frank against his chest while Curt poked and prodded at him. The way he rested his mouth against Frank’s shoulder, gripping him tight as Curt stapled his skin closed. The way he leans down, right beside the hot blade, and turned Frank’s face into his neck, holding him away from the blade, as if he didn’t want Frank to look. 

Curt is angry at David. Frank knows that for sure. Curt is not easy to anger. It’s clear Curt didn’t like the way that David was touching him: like Frank was something breakable. Even as they pulled an arrow from his shoulder blade, Curt “tsk”ed at David, but he left without saying much of anything. 

Then Frank was hurt and benched. He spent most of the day curled like a fetus in bed, not doing much, not saying anything. He would have cried if it didn’t hurt so bad, his whole body racking with the force of the sobs he knew would come if he let himself tear up. Emotions are a slippery slope.

And David would wrap his wounds, and feed him, and throw an extra blanket on him when he deemed it “bedtime”, even if Frank could never find sleep. David would turn on the radio for him, explain what he saw on his cameras, or just sit in silence beside him. It all worked. It all made Frank feel better. 

The second night Frank knew David would have something to say about him not sleeping the previous night. Maybe he’d try and drug him, maybe he’d offer to snuggle him. The possibilities were endless, at this point; David was a wildcard with him. 

Instead, David offered him hot chocolate, steaming from Frank’s favourite red mug, and when Frank refused, he sighed. “You've been layin’ here all day and still haven’t slept.”

Frank says nothing. David is simply stating facts. 

The silence is apparently the wrong response, and David huffs again, sinking to sit on the edge of the bed where Frank is facing away from him. Frank can feel him against his lower back, but still doesn’t move. David sips the mug he brought for him and sighs a final time. Frank’s in for it now. 

Instead of attacking him in his weakened state, voicing all the things Frank’s own head is screaming at him: _”Get your sorry ass out of bed, we’ve got work to do, you useless—“_ David moves and drags a hand up Frank’s spine. He tenses, but that’s never stopped the guy before, and he continues his slow drag up and down, fingers dancing lightly. Then he pushes at Frank’s (uninjured) side and tells him to lay flat.

After a moment, Frank twists and flattens down on his stomach. He keeps his head turned away from him as David continues to run up and down his back. His muscles are tight, they both feel it. With his next stroke, he drags Frank’s shirt up with the hook of his thumb, relieving the tortured skin and bandaged wounds.

David drags his fingertips down the length of Frank’s back, lightly scratching the skin, without even looking. They both know his back is littered with bruises, but he never hits one. It’s as if he knows Frank’s body better than Frank does. Instead, he sips his cocoa and tells Frank how his mother used to scratch his back when he was sick. He used to get sick a lot; his bright red nose was a tell-tale sign of his latest virus. He says his mother would lie beside him and scratch his back, the sensation relaxing and beneficial, since she believed the stimulation would blood flow. “I’d fall asleep in a second,” David says, smiling to himself. 

Frank dreamt of a curly-haired boy with a red nose, and if he felt a kiss pressed to his shoulder blade, it was simply a dream.


	2. ii

ii.

Being benched sucked. He has so much built up energy he feels like he could fight an army, but instead, he’s washing dishes. Mostly mugs, spoons, rinsing the occasional empty milk cartons. It’s quiet tonight and the only thing he has to kill is time. 

Suddenly, he feels a soft touch on his shoulder, light enough to be a butterfly landing, but the touch flattens against his collarbone, and a hand sweeps dangerously close to his throat. 

Instincts kick in, and Frank drops his favourite red mug into the soapy water and grabs the hand tight, spinning to pull it straight and slam the body against the table behind them. Then, and only then, does he realize it’s just David. 

The realization floods him as he looks down at his friend, bent backward at the knees with his back on the kitchen bench eyes wide in shock. “David,” he gasps, and instantly grabs him around the shoulders and draws him up, off the table. 

David goes like a rag doll, panting slightly as he attempts to stand stable after having this whole world rocked. “Woah,” he pants. “You’re like a cat.” 

Frank flushes in shame but his fight or flight response is still humming under his skin. It’s almost embarrassing how strong the _flight_ side is. 

“I...I d—“

“Hey now,” David tries.

“I-I’m _so.._ —”

“No, it’s my fault, that's what I—“

“—sorry, David, I’m so sorry....”

“—get for sneaking up on a Marine.”

They both stop talking at the same time. David chuckles, then laughs, the leans his cheek on Frank’s hand, which is still gripping his shoulder. They breathe for a second, together, unmoving, before David whispers: “Are you hurt?”

Frank scoffs. He nearly killed the guy and he’s asking if _he’s_ okay. “What?”

David’s hand reaches under where Frank’s arm is holding him and palms his bad shoulder. “Did you rip a stitch or something?” 

Frank wants to throw him off. Wants to push him down and tell him to fucking _stop._ Whatever this is, whatever game he’s playing, he’s gotta stop. It’s making Frank’s insides all gooey and he doesn’t know how to handle it. Frank dropped his head, rocking back and forth slightly, within the trap of their arms tangled together. 

When David speaks, it’s soft and easy. “I know you won’t hurt me, Frank,” he says and it sounds so damn honest. “I know it. You know it.”

Frank slides his hands closer together, his thumbs resting against David’s neck, an homage to the touch that got them into this mess. He nods. 

“Say it,” David whispers. 

Frank exhales. “I know it.” 

“Know what?”

Frank opens his eyes, but keeps them down. “I know I won’t hurt you.” He says, almost as if it pains him. 

David softens. “Say it again.”

“I know I won’t hurt you.” More confident this time. 

“Again.”

“I know I won’t hurt you.” He says a final time, and this time it feels real. It feels almost as if he has convinced himself of it. As if he believes it. 

David doesn’t say anything else. His blue eyes are calm as a lake when he pats Frank’s hands and backs away. 

Frank decides its time a flee. 

He ducks his head and makes his way to the bathroom for a cold shower to wash away his urge to attack the most important person in his life right now. Jesus, he needs to relax. 

David watches him go, then goes to the sink and picks up where Frank left off, finding a red mug now missing a handle.


	3. iii

iii.

Sleeping had felt so good that night that David sat with him, he almost asked him to do it again. To sit beside him, and talk, and touch, and lull him into an easy sleep. 

But he didn’t, and soon he was plagued by his usual nightmares. So he went back out, caused more trouble, came back limping, and David was always there waiting for him. Frank thought to himself every day; how do I deserve _this?_

“Alright,” David murmurs as he follows Frank into the bathroom. “Let’s assess the damage.” 

“I got it.” Frank tells him, but they both see the rip in the back of his jeans, blood pooling in his shoes, and both know him to be a liar. 

David rocks back on his heels. “Okayyy.” He draws innocently, and leans against the door frame, right there when Frank needs him. 

He watches the man patch up a few small slices on his face, wiping the bruise already forming around his eye clear of blood. He strips the black tape off his hands and cleans his knuckles. 

Next, he undoes his belt and unbuckles his jeans, pushing them down, just past his hips before he hisses and pauses. 

He leans against the sink. His washed hands gripping the ledge as he glances up in at David in the mirror. 

David grins. 

“You just gonna stand there?” Frank bites. 

David shrugs. “Do you need help?” 

Frank says nothing, but David knows what he meant. He pushes himself off the wall to make his way over to him. “Get me a needle, yeah?”

He leans against the wall and sinks to his knees beside Frank, reaching up to pull down the man’s bloody, battered jeans. He’s entirely too sure of how this looks; how this _feels,_ but presses on with an air of professionalism. 

He pulls the fabric until the gash is exposed: a cut running two inches down the back of Frank’s outer thigh, starting just a bit below his boxers. It’s nasty, and deep, and David winces, since Frank won’t. 

Frank passes him the alcohol and hangs his head as David covers the wound and his hands and wipes it away with a cloth. He braces himself by holding the back of Frank’s thigh and starting stitching. He’s done this a thousand times, and it never gets easier. 

He must dig too deep because Frank hisses and rocks on his feet a bit. David’s never seen him react like this, and it freaks him out. “Shit, shit. Sorry, hold on, lemme just...” He brings the needle back out in a straight line carefully and tries again in the same spot. 

This time, Frank groans and grabs a handful of David’s hair, pulling him away. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” David says as he’s nearly knocked off his knees and onto his ass. “K’ let me try the other side,” he concludes, seeing as this side is too tender. When he glances up, Frank’s eyes are wide, staring at his own hand. 

But he keeps it there, gripping David’s hair, as he tries the other side. Luckily, David is able to slip the needle through his skin with relative ease, and less pain for Frank. He huffs in relief. Frank’s fingers untangle from his hair, but rest on top of his head while they both take a second to breathe before David continues. 

As he finishes up, he leans back to let Frank critique his work. Frank says nothing, only passes him a roll of bandage for him to wrap his thigh with. 

David loops the white cloth around his thigh over and over until it’s a thick white leg garter: might as well be lace. David runs his hands down his thigh. 

Frank groans. He attempts to take a step back, away from David’s hands, but he’s weak and tired, his bad leg nearly giving out. David swoops in and tucks an arm under his shoulder. 

“Hey, okay, let’s get you to bed.” He whispers. 

It’s a slow walk to Frank’s cot, David ensuring they take their sweet time as to not stress his wounds any more than they already are. He deposits Frank on the bed with a groan, sitting back to find his face still flushed: with shame, with fatigue? David doesn’t know. 

Frank sighs as David leaves. “David,” he calls. 

“Yeah?”

It takes him a moment to figure out what he wants to say. So long that David nods, and walks off. 

He comes back with a warm washcloth. Talk about mother hen. 

He kneels down by Frank’s head and wipes the blood from his eyes, mouth, nose. He presses the back of his hand to his forehead and leaves it there a moment. “You’re a little warm,” he says, “let me feel you again in the morning and if you fever I’ll get you antibiotics.” 

Frank hums. It feels nice to be taken care of sometimes. 

David is about to leave again, Frank can feel it. His face grows hot. “David,” he tries one last time. 

“Yeah?” David says again, like he’d always answer the same thing until Frank got his words straight. 

Frank just shakes a shoulder. “Thank you.”

David smiles and takes the cloth away from his face. “You’re washing these sheets in the morning.” He says, commenting on Frank’s blood-soaked skin. 

Then, like something from a romantic movie, he leans over and presses a gentle kiss to Frank’s forehead.

A reminder to check for fever. That’s all. 

Frank forgets how to think, and that’s enough time for his body to shut down and let his eyes fall shut. He’s asleep by the time David leaves.


	4. iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this scene is the whole reason i wrote this

iv.

Frank is going crazy.

He doesn’t know what is going on with him, but it’s a full body response. His heart is fast, his breaths shaky, he can practically feel his pupils dilating. He’s crazy. He’s gotta be. 

Because he’s laying in bed (and has been for the past thirty minutes) with the blanket up over his face, but only slightly, ensuring no one sees him, but allowing him to peak out from under it. When he started sleeping down here in David’s _man cave,_ the first thing he did was ensure that his cot, from the western side of the room, could see David’s cot, on the east. David’s farm of computers separated the two men, but Frank is positioned perfectly so he could keep eyes on David at all times. 

Of course, now, he doesn’t need to keep eyes on him, since he knows David isn’t going to attack him in his sleep (probably), but here he is, with the blanket over his head, watching David like a creep with binoculars in the bushes. 

He watches David wake up. Slowly tossing and turning for a moment until he finally opens his eyes. Frank can’t see clear enough, but he knows for sure he’s awake when the guy throws back his blankets and pulls his feet to the side of the bed. Frank watches his back while he works up the energy to stand. 

He pulls himself slowly out of bed and walks to the end of his bed and stares at it, as if contemplating if he should just crawl back in. He eventually decides against it, even though he is overcome with a yawn. He fights it by stretching his arms up over his head. He’s wearing a soft looking, thick blue sweater. It’s long in the arms, probably old, but slightly short in the torso. As he stretches his arms up, it lifts. A thin strip of pasty skin lines between the sweater and the band of his boxers. Past the boxers are his legs (which Frank refuses to even _think_ about) and his feet, covered by long wooly socks that bunch at his ankles. 

He looks like a damn homeless man. Frank doesn’t know why it makes his breath come so hot. 

David wipes his eye with the back of his hand as he walks off towards his computers. He looks at them for a moment, twists his mouth, then turns around and heads for the kitchenette. He starts the coffee pot, like he does every morning, and bangs on the metal pipe above the counter to wake Frank like he does every morning. 

Frank’s face is hot. He gets out of bed. 

He has no idea how he gets to the kitchenette, whether it took him three seconds or ten minutes, but as soon as he realizes it, he’s standing about two feet from David’s back as he makes coffee, in his _goddamn_ sweater, boxers, and socks, with a blanket still draped over his shoulders as if it will shield him from whatever he’s about to do. 

Frank sidles up beside him. He knows he’s too close, and yet, he knows David won’t mind. 

David pulls his red mug from the shelf (newly glued back together, an almost comical metaphor for how David pieces Frank back up every time he breaks), and pours hot coffee into it. He doesn’t seem to notice that Frank is so close; perhaps its too early in the morning for him to comment, or maybe he doesn’t want to, heaven forbid he spook Frank. 

So David takes the red mug and spins around in a tight circle, the counter pressing into his lower back lightly as he takes the other man in.  
Frank knows how he looks: his hands tangled in the blanket draped over his shoulder, his hair wild and eyes tired. He is in no way deserving of the look David is giving him right now. 

David takes one mug-warmed hand up to Frank’s bare neck, an homage to what happened last time they were in the kitchen together, and pressed under the blanket to feel his newly scarred shoulder. His long fingers press into the mark of a poisoned arrow just inches away from his heart and hums. “You feel any better?” 

Frank doesn’t know what he’s asking. He never _really_ feels better, he doesn’t let himself sit idle long enough for that. But he won’t lie, David’s fingers smoothing the aching skin feel nice, and he hums contentedly, nodding softly. 

He untangles his hand from his blanket and takes the mug from David’s hand. He puts it back beside the coffee pot, sure he’ll remember it later. 

David gives him a look and sweeps his hand across the other man’s shoulder comfortingly. “You okay?” 

Keeping his eyes down, Frank takes a step closer. 

The hand settles on his collarbone. “Frank?”

“Tell me this is okay, man.” He forces out, throat tight with emotion he can’t place and doesn’t want to because he's afraid to put a name to this because when he does that will mean it’s real and if—

“Yeah,” David affirms. “It’s okay. We’re okay.” 

So Frank steps even closer, his one hand still wrapped in his blanket against his stomach, keeping some distance between them even as he bumps his nose up against David’s jaw, unsure what to do in this situation, but praying David reads him the same way he always does and helps. 

He does, of course; the hand not on Frank’s shoulder comes up to grab his jaw and pull him where they both want him. He lets Frank do the leg work, lets him make the first contact, but being this close to the other man makes Frank sure of what he wants. 

Frank kisses him with the trepidation of a man standing on a cliff. The first press of dry lips is like a drug he’s been missing for way too damn long, and he sighs happily into it. David holds his jaw and presses closer, opening him slightly, but keeping his tongue to himself, thank you very much.

Frank is left feeling weak, the way the taller man holds his jaw and kisses him like he would his wife. It’s so fucking weird, all of it is, but damn if he isn’t already addicted. 

David presses his fingers into the scar on his shoulder, making Frank moan and breathe hotly into his mouth. David smiles against him, tasting him as he gasps. He then reaches his hand down past the band of Frank’s sweat pants and down until he can feel the bandage covering his newest wound, and presses into it through his sweats. 

Frank breaks away from his mouth to lick hotly at his neck. David presses harder into the wound, and suddenly, Frank falls to his knees with a thud, his blanket dropping behind him like a veil. 

David instantly worries that he hurt him, and bends over to see what happened. He grabs Frank’s face and tips it up to see his expression, and doesn’t know why he’s shocked when he sees the man’s pupils blown wide, practically salivating like Pavlov’s dogs at the ring of his bell. 

It clicks then, and David doesn’t wait a second longer. Together they tug down his boxers and Frank looks away, but just for a second, still shameful of what he’s doing here, on his knees in the kitchen like a fool. Frank gives him a look that says: “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

David’s smile conveys: “you don’t have to do anything.” 

So Frank just goes for it. He’s drooling for it. 

It’s not as hard to take as he thought it was going to be. Frank _knew_ what he was getting himself into. He knew what to expect. But David doesn’t hold him down, or choke him, or force him, even if a small voice in the back of Frank’s head is begging for it. David keeps his hands respectfully clasped together, pressed against his mouth as he looks down in shock of this whole deal. As painful as the whole thing might be for him, he lets Frank do his thing. 

Frank licks here, strokes there, sucks like a chick in porn: cheeks hollowed out and tongue flat against the bottom. He laps at the tip, takes it all down, practically testing his skills out on David to see what works best.

It doesn’t take long for David’s hips to be bucking, with Frank accidentally teasing him like this. His head is thrown back, his eyes are pinched closed, his hands are tangled in the bottom of his sweater, itching to touch, but not. 

When he looks down at him, folded on his knees, kitten licking him with his eyes blown wide, drooling and staring back up at him, David stutters out his name like a prayer and has to forcibly take himself out of Frank’s mouth so he doesn’t choke the guy. He strokes himself only twice before coming on Frank’s chest like a high schooler and his first pair of tits. Frank watches in fascination, like this whole thing was a science experiment, even if his head is slightly foggy and hands are a little shaky. 

David slides down the kitchen counter cabinets until he’s sitting with his legs on either side of Frank’s knees, his head thrown back against the wall, focusing on not exploding. 

God, he’s missed sex. 

When he finds the power to lift his heavy head, he does so just at the right second to watch Frank dip a finger into the mess on his chest and plop it into his mouth. If David hadn’t just come, he’d have lost his shit at that. 

When David groans, Frank looks up like he didn’t know he was being watched. David doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone taste come if it wasn’t for show. He shakes his head to himself, where did this man come from?

David leans forward and uses his thumb to scoop up his own spunk and, seeing Frank eye it like it’s a fucking spoon of ice cream, stick his thumb between his red lips until he sucks it clean. 

_Gimme a fuckin’ break,_ David thinks, wonderstruck. 

He pulls his thumb from the guy's wet mouth knowing full well that Frank would have sat there and sucked it for as long as he kept it there, and moves to kiss his fuck red lips one last time, lest this be a dream. He works his hand down his body to palm Frank through his sweats. He’s hard and hot and he bucks into it. Or away from it. Probably away, since Frank grabs his wrist and tugs it away. “No,” he says breathily, kissing David again. 

David kisses back, then pushes him back. “What?”

“No,” says Frank again, pulling David back in one last time, and then stands. “I’m gonna shower.”

David watches him go, feeling oddly similar to the way he felt when Frank broke the mug in the sink and smashed him against the counter for touching him. He looks down at his hands and feels dirty. 

He reaches up and drinks the luke-warm coffee straight from the pot, not daring to touch the red mug, only inches away from it.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a couple chapters done, and am slowly working through my last two. it really depends how well this does if i finish it up... im happy leaving it where it is cuz i dont really have my heart in it anymore. sucks, hey?
> 
> as always, thank you for stopping by and thank u for tipping your writer with kudos and comments. i need them yall. i live on them.
> 
>  
> 
> visit me @ [ghostcas](http://www.ghostycas.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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